


A new faith

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Masturbation, broken Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days of late were frequently passed like this, in quiet observation, thoughtful meditation, and in re learning what and who and why he was. He touched his vessel as he touched the world, with curiosity and delight, to explore, to imagine.</p>
<p>(Season 7 brokenCas headcanon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A new faith

It was like being reborn. It was a renewal, a metamorphosis. Like butterflies exiting chrysalis, like birds emerging from eggs, like flowers pushing up past a barrier of dirt to worship the sun. He could be something else, something new, something he’d never tried before. He had never particularly wanted to try anything else, but the past few years – which really were only a blink of his existence – had been rather turbulent.

But he was done with that, done with what he had been, done being a soldier and a dutiful son and a leader. No. He was a butterfly now, a bird, a flower.

The old trench coat and the dirty scrubs were folded and sitting on a rock by the stream while he curled in on himself laying in the tall grass of the bank. The sun was warm on his skin, the earth beneath him cool, the grass soft. It was quiet in this part of the woods, at least as quiet as woods could be. There was a deer foraging in the brush not too far in past the line of trees and the steady buzz of bees around their hive nearby was a lull in the background. He stretched long limbs out, flattening tall grass, as he watched the bees dance. Blinking lazily, he tried to interpret the messages in their frenetic wing patterns.

He could spend years here, learning the bees language, counting the riverbed pebbles under gently moving waters, cataloging the scents of wildflowers, watching families of deer grow and live. It was beautiful, to find himself so surrounded by abundance and light. It was peaceful. He was nothing important here, nothing needed or feared or sought after. Just another creature breathing the air and occupying space.

As isolated as he had been from the heavenly host as of late, and for as long as he had spent in his vessel, he found himself swallowed by sensations. It was like the corporeal world was a rising tide slowly consuming him, gently lapping against his shores.

Head lolling back while grass tickled at his cheeks, reveling in the simplicity and tactile warmth of his nudity, he let his hands rove over the planes of his body, taut skin and lax muscles, dip of his stomach, jut of a hipbone, soft hair on his thighs and cock thickening against his palm. In the open expanses of nature he did not feel quite so alone, it eased the tension in his stomach and the guilt in his bones.

The days of late were frequently passed like this, in quiet observation, thoughtful meditation, and in re learning what and who and why he was. He touched his vessel as he touched the world, with curiosity and delight, to explore, to imagine.

Sighing gently and blinking against the brightness of the sun rising high in clear expanses of soft blue sky, he rolled onto his back, bringing legs up that heels were pressed against the backs of thighs, rising from the grass like great mountain tips, they could be mountains for ants. Smiling to think of such, to consider shifting possibilities of what he was according not only to himself but to the life forms surrounding him, he loosely took himself in his hand and stroked sensitive flesh.

To an angel a human was a speck, a pebble, a tiny thing. To an ant a human was vast and towering. What was a human to a blade of grass. Hm, this was certainly something worthy of further meditation, the thoughts of grass blades.

But for now he was more concerned with the warmth spreading through his body from within the core of it, as it seeped and followed blood through his veins to warm the tips of his fingers, like his body was reaching out from the inside to meet the sunlight, to worship the air and grass in it’s own way. He had thought this blasphemous at one time. It was a matter to be reconsidered however, given light of recent revelations.

Breathing deeply, taking great lungfulls that expanded in his belly and pushed his ribs out and out, the warmth tingled and blossomed in his body as he blinked into the sun and breathed the pure air. He watched the animals sometimes, as they copulated with one another, as they birthed new life and nurtured it. There was beauty in all creation, in the expressions of bodies and the sprawl of vegetation. He wanted to believe there was a measure of this in himself as well, something good, something natural that fit and flowed without thought. If he could find it, learn to culture it, nurture it.

Touching himself made him happy, it made his body lax, it made his mind quiet for a time. He felt as though it were just a piece of all the ways he could communicate with himself. He felt almost as though it connected him outwardly, anchored him tangibly in the realm of external, it was a shared experience with other creatures, an expression of his nature. Languidly, sighing out the held breath hitching in his chest, his toes curling into the grass and back arching up into the sky, reaching out from within he released and let it shudder through his vessel, it was simple, it was good.

It was a revival of sorts, into a new faith.


End file.
